


Of The Highest Order

by half_sleeping



Category: Dresden Files - Butcher, Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_sleeping/pseuds/half_sleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mysterious girls with mysterious pasts looking to hire me to search for mysterious artifacts? See 'em all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[i may never finish this](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/i%20may%20never%20finish%20this), [khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [my f-list enables me too much](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/my%20f-list%20enables%20me%20too%20much), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 1/?** _

 

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?   
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

I know that I’ve had a lot of weird customers. Most of whom have managed to land me in some shit or other…much like everyone else I know or have ever met. Most, however, managed to land themselves on the opposite ends of the scale- either incredibly powerful and dangerous, or helpless victim. It happens. Either they wanted something from me, or they needed my help. Ambiguity wasn’t much in my line of work. I’m enough of a gray area myself to be leery of it in others.

This one, I had no idea how to classify. Her appearance was itself wildly incongruous, a small, delicate Asian girl with purple hair and an eyepatch. ‘Small’ and ‘delicate’ aren’t actually good enough to describe exactly how small and delicate she was. I’ve never seen a woman that tiny not on the cover of a magazine.

And I’ve never seen a gaze that self-assured on anyone who’s ever come to me for help. She managed to give it on one eye, too.

“Mr. Dresden?” she said. There was the barest flavor of an accent around the ‘s’. Her voice was as small as the rest of her. I nodded at her, trying to place the accent. Globalization has taken all the ease out of racial pigeonholing, but I figured she might be Japanese. Or Korean.

Look, I live in Chicago, sure, but in a basement. That I don’t get out enough to tell the difference between all the identical lighter-skinned Asians should come as no surprise.

“My name is Chrome,” she said. “You are a wizard?”

“That’s what it says on my card,” I said. “Which you must believe, if you’re here. What can I do for you?”

She paused for a second, maybe two. Listening to- I don’t know what. Or maybe just puzzling over my words. English probably wasn’t her first language.

“I want information,” she said. “If possible, I would like you to retrieve this artifact, although I appreciate that this might not be possible.”

“Does it belong to you?” I said. Bluntness is a gift that keeps on giving.

“It’s not the sort of thing that exactly belongs to anyone,” she said. Kufufu. I blinked. I’d expected a high-pitched giggle, not- that weird hybrid of a chuckle and a laugh and a snicker. Surprisingly low-pitched, too.

“Miss- Chrome,” I said. “Look, if it’s illegal, then I can’t-“

“Which is why it will be perfectly satisfactory for you simply obtain information on it for me,” she said. “Who knows… perhaps the current owner would be amendable to large sums of money.”

I shot her a disbelieving look. It is _never_ that simple. I should know. She shrugged. “It could happen,” she said. Kufufu. “In the meantime, I promise that your duties end wherever you feel comfortable, Mr. Dresden-“ there it was again, that ‘su’ where there was no ‘su’. “Only I think you will understand,” she said, “that your paycheck will as well.”

“Fair enough,” I said, looking her over again. I tapped the documents she’d slid over to me on the desk. I needed money, she needed information, and hell, she was a lot more polite than the last few thousand people I’d had banging down my door. “Alright, lady. You’ve got a deal.”

She stood, bowed prettily, and left.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Hell, it _never_ ever is.

As luck would have it, I was walking my dog. Or my mountain lion. Or my medium-sized pony. Those are all pretty good descriptors of Mouse.

Look, I have responsibilities, alright? Mouse needs his walk. I need to let the fairy housekeepers do their job. Bob needs to puzzle over the files Chrome gave me.

The mob needs to ambush me outside my home.

Mouse spotted them first. He stiffened and growled at the car outside my apartment, with two black-suited guys leaning outside. One of them was platinum-blond, hands peppered with rings, a punk touch to his crisp suit. He was smoking, with the calm intensity and focus of the dedicated chain-smoker. I mentally named him ‘too pretty to be grumpy’, ‘Grumpy’ for short. The other had a long narrow duffel bag slung over his shoulder, which put me in mind of Michael, for some reason. He was clearly Asian now that I was closer, with black hair and almond-shaped eyes. They were both so good-looking it immediately cheesed me off a bit, and I hang around with _Thomas_, for crying out loud.

Granted, Thomas didn’t give off hostility the very moment his eyes laid onto me, like Grumpy did. The other one- waved at me. And thumped on the roof of the car with a casual disregard for a vehicle that cost more than my apartment, my car and my life combined, at least going by what Madrigal Raith had nearly sold it for on ebay. Of course, I’d made more enemies since then.

“Dresden?” said Grumpy. “We understand that you’ve been hired by an associate of ours.” His English was unaccented, and his voice was rich with the kind of arrogance that usually passes for authority- garnished, no doubt, by the look he flicked over me.

_I’m sorry my clothes aren’t up to your standards, Mr. thousand-dollar-Italian suit._ “I’m sorry, who are you?” I said. Nothing like a little politeness to kick off raging hostilities. I readied my shield bracelet.

Grumpy scowled. Well, scowled more. “Chrome Dokuro,” he said, then paused expectantly.

“My, you’ve changed, Miss Chrome,” I said. “That sure was fast. I liked the eyepatch better, though. This entitled asshole crap you have going on now just doesn’t do it for me.”

Grumpy bristled, reaching into his jacket. I got ready to cast, fast enough to hold them off so that I could get my weapons from the apartment, where a herd of buffalo would have trouble attacking me.

Then Grumpy was doubled over over the fist of a girl barely larger than Chrome. He choked, cursed, and they began having a flaming row, right there in the middle of the street. In Japanese.

Well, that settled where Chrome was from. I looked over at Mouse to see his take on the situation, considering that Tall, Dark and Probably Toting a Sword (look, I’m slow, okay?) was watching his associate fight with the girl with a large grin on his face.

Mouse was lying on the ground, all four legs in the air, having his belly scratched by a kid with messy brown hair.

I stared at him. He glanced up at me, and grinned sheepishly. So did the kid.

“You unfaithful _harlot_,” I said, loading my voice with as much disapproval as I possibly could. I also relaxed slightly, since Mouse was highly sensitive to danger. “Hi,” I said to the kid.

He smiled at me. I swear to you for a moment I thought he was a fae. The very air seemed to light up around that smile. “_Konnichiwa_,” he said. “_Du-Duresu-den-san._”

I rapidly recalculated my initial impression of ‘mob’. Were they Yakuza? If so, what the hell were they doing with a kid and a girl, both clearly sweet enough to rot teeth?

More importantly, what the hell had Chrome landed me into? This was even less routine than my other cases. And it had only been two hours since I’d taken her on.

There was a honking sound as another car slid up to us, and Murphy stepped out. “Dresden! You-“

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the expensive car, the men in black suits, the way the girl and Grumpy stopped fighting as soon as they saw her and instead stared warily.

I sighed. It’s never, _ever_ that simple.

-tbc-


	2. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order), [save me.](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/save%20me.)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 2/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?   
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

In accordance with Mouse’s better judgement, I let them into the apartment.

Look, a fallen angel and his two thousand year-old partner had once shown fear of Mouse, okay? I’d never even made the guy flinch much. You gotta give the big guy his props. If Mouse liked someone- more, if that someone liked him- it was a pretty safe bet that they weren’t toting hostile inclinations.

Besides, it was funny how the second that kid stood up, Grumpy just about fell all over his bipolar self fawning over him.

Grumpy’s real name, it turned out, was Hayato Gokudera, a mouthful I didn’t even try to pronounce. Not that I could figure out which was the last name or the first one- while I knew that the Japanese put the last name first, I didn’t know if they’d moved it around for introductions, especially since I couldn’t tell the difference either damn way. The smiley sword-toting one was Takeshi Yamamoto, the girl introduced herself as Haru Miura, and the kid’s name was apparently Tsunayoshi Sawada. In their fast talk, I couldn’t even tell where one name ended and the other began, although the kid put paid to a bit of that by pointing to himself and saying, “Tsuna.”

“Tuna?” I said, blankly. Grumpy threw a hissy fit. The girl elbowed him in the gut, a maneuver I (and, I saw, Murphy, for all she was sulking near my stove) approved of.

“Tsu,” said the kid. “Tsu-na. You?”

I was deeply tempted to devolve into a ‘me Tarzan. You Jane’ joke, but resisted. It’s nto as if he would have understood it, anyway. “Harry,” I said. “Harry Dresden.”

The kid- Tsuna, I guess- smiled again. “Harii-san,” he said. “You- I-“ he stopped, and sent a look of mute appeal to the girl and/or Grumpy.

Thankfully, the girl stepped up. Her English wasn’t anywhere near as clear as Grumpy’s, but all the more charming for that.

“Mr. Dresu-den,” she said, “We came to ask you about Chrome. She was seen at your agency, yes? This afternoon?”

I shrugged. “She hired me to find something. It’s what I do.”

“To find what?” said Grumpy.

“Client confidentiality,” I said, glaring at him. I hadn’t forgotten how trigger-happy Grumpy was, and I didn’t like it. We’d been in the street. Anyone could have gotten hurt. He wanted to play hardball? I could damn well play hardball right back.

“You-“

Tsuna snapped something at him, surprisingly hard for- well, my impression of him. (My impressions are shit.) They argued back and forth for a bit, tossing back words like ‘Mukuro’, ‘_Yarou_’, and ‘you-die-me’. I won’t pretend I understood any of it. Instead, I trotted over to the kitchen to speak to Murphy.

“Alright Dresden,” she demanded. “What the hell?”

“I was just taking Mouse for a walk,” I told her. “I have no idea how the Yakuza showed up on my doorstep. I think they might be looking for a client of mine.”

“Only you, Harry,” said Murphy. “I picked up a few complaints about there being a car and a couple of dangerous-looking guys on this street- came over to see if you’ve landed your ass in hot water again.”

“When don’t I?” I asked rhetorically.

“Sad,” said Murphy, “but true. So what do they want now?”

“You in?” I said, surprised.

“I didn’t just come all this way just for beer, Dresden,” she informed me. “If you get mixed up with the mob, you know that things will go south real-“

“Harii-san?”

I turned, and there was Tsuna, having apparently reduced Grumpy to tears. “_Ano_\- Chrome-san,” he said. “She- okay? She- well?”

“Um,” I said. “She looked okay?”

Tsuna brightened visibly. “Chrome-san well?”

I nodded frantically. I’m not equipped to handle well-meaning kids. I break down in the face of language barriers. And I thought I was bad with _women_.

He looked relieved. “_Sono wa ii desu_,” he said. “Is good. We go now. If she- help, you tell us?”

I exchanged glances with Murphy. She shrugged at me, eyes wide. She might be boiled even tougher than I was, but the kid had some serious mojo going on. I shrugged at him. “Sure. I mean, yes. I mean, _hai_.”

He gave me another one of those brilliant smiles. “_Arigato Gozaimasu_,” he said, bowing to us. “Haru-chan?”

“_Hai!_” chirped the girl, handing me a card. It was one of those cards the concierge at fancy hotels hand out to their foreign guests for taxis and such. “Mr. Dresden, please contact us here if any complications arise!”

“Um,” I said. “Thank you?”

They filed out and left quietly, even Grumpy. Mister, relieved, came down from the top of the bookcase.

“Well,” said Murphy. “That was the smallest, cutest mob boss _I’ve _ever seen.”

I choked on my relaxation beer. “_Mob boss_?” I’d figured Tsuna for the son or something of a boss, not for the boss himself… “Also, wait- they’re Japanese. That’s Yakuza, right?”

Murphy stared at me. “That was Tsunayoshi Sawada,” she said, pronouncing it long and slow, so that it sounded nothing like his introduction but a great deal more recognizable, “The tenth head of the Vongola family, which is based in Italy. For the past ten generations, the Vongola have been the most respected and thus most influential mafia group in the world. The current head of the family is believed to have taken on his duties when he was sixteen years old.”

I whistled. That sounded like a hell of a thing to lay onto a kid- wait. “How do _you_ know all that?” I said, looking at Murphy.

“They’re in town, as you just experienced,” she said. “The new boss swans into Chicago to hash things out with Johnny Marcone and you can bet any cop worth their badge has their ear to the ground. That’s why I rushed over- hell, piss them off and it’s entirely possible there wouldn’t have been anything for me to kick for being a wiseass too mouthy for his own good.”

I frowned. “I-“

“Or,” she continued, loudly, “Maybe that certain wiseass too mouthy for his own good torches the new boss and his honour guard and Chicago winds up the scene for a gigantic mob war.”

“Eh,” I said. Grumpy had been asking for it, but Tsuna had seemed level-headed enough. (Sometimes I’m amazed at how jaded I am. Tiny mob boss? Sure. Weregoats? Eh. Girls with mysterious pasts looking for mysterious artifacts? See ‘em all the time.)

Sweet kid, too. It was weird thinking of him on the same level as Marcone- but Aurora had been sweet as well. Right until you saw the crazy in her eyes.

Murphy laid out most of the deal on Tsuna- all of what she’d heard. At nineteen, he was taking control of the Vongola’s considerable avenues of business, and what he had was actually pretty damn close to toeing the line of the law. He was supposedly in town for a meeting with Marcone, in what sounded like the mob equivalent of a checkup. Except that Marcone hadn’t been the one to call the meeting.

This was slightly unsettling. Marcone may adore civility in his rotten dirty empire, but he comes to heel for no one. I didn’t even want to think of what he might decide was necessary if I endangered whatever criminal diplomacy he had going.

Hell, I didn’t what to think of what _Tsuna_ would do. He might have been all smiles and worried looks, but I didn’t want to find out how a nineteen-year-old (and his friends, who couldn’t have been all that much older than he was, to be that comfortable with him) had held onto his position.

We finished our beers in silence, before I remembered that potential mobs wars or no, I had a client to satisfy. I saw Murphy out, relatively sure that there were no mob snipers out for her head or mine. Yet.

And then I went down to speak to Bob.

.o.

“A Hell Ring,” I said. “That’s what Chrome asked me to find.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Nicely dramatic name, isn’t it?”

“What is it?” I said.

“This is where it gets complicated, Harry,” said Bob. “You know those visitors you had earlier?”

“The mob?”

“The Vongola,” said Bob. “Mob doesn’t even begin. They’ve got these heirlooms that are passed on to each succeeding generation of leaders. They call them the Vongola Rings.”

“And this Hell Ring is one of them?”

“Not even close,” said Bob. I glared at him. “Look, I said it was complicated. Sit down and listen. It’s long.”

In about forty minutes, I knew more than I had ever wanted to know about the mob, rings, and boxes.

Yeah, that’s right. Boxes. With attributes that sounded like the weather channel and rainbow midgets who were top assassins and scientists and soldiers.

Life, ladies and gentlemen. I couldn’t make shit like this up if I tried.

“So…” I said, “When Grumpy tried to pull on me just now- he was going for a box, huh? Not a gun.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Bob. “Some boxes can kill without a whisper, some swallow you up- I tell you, for people who call themselves scientists, those guys really made the boxes works of art. And it has the added bonus of being near completely unbelievable. The Vongola controls the box trade, but the worthwhile rings are more or less heirlooms- without which the boxes are just fancy cubes.”

“Boxes,” I said, shaking my head. “Powered by flames.”

“Flames of willpower,” said Bob. “The entire basis of the boxes and the rings is that they’re powered by their sheer refusal to give up and die, if that gives you any idea of the type of people you’d be dealing with if you ever went toe-to-toe with them.” Bob looked at me slyly. I don’t know how he does it. He just does. “Sounds like you’d get along, eh?”

I scowled at Bob. “So the Hell Ring…?”

“The Hell Rings are a set of six mist attribute rings,” said Bob. “Your girl Chrome must be either a mist girl or working for one- which opens up the possibility of illusions. These aren’t about simple misdirection, Harry. Get just a bit careless with one of theirs and you’ll be subject to the worst things they can imagine.”

“The ‘hell’ part kinda tipped me off, yeah,” I said. “Anything on her connection to the Vongola?”

“Not a whisper,” said Bob. “It’s like she’s got some kind of spiritual or mental shield up- only it eats information about her or something. The most I could get was a connection to ‘The Six Paths’, which actually leads to Buddhism and reincarnation.”

The symbolism implied was beginning to make my head hurt. “Okay,” I said. “So I’ve got to track down a Hell Ring, which is a dangerous and valuable weapon to the mob, so that I can pass on the information to a woman who may or may not be wanted by the mob, and all the while there’s Marcone on the other end of things to come down on me if his deal doesn’t come out as planned. Lovely.”

“Was she at least hot?” said Bob wistfully.

Sometimes Bob is so predictable it’s reassuring. I didn’t bother to reply to that as I retired for the night. I wanted some more information on Tsuna and his ‘family’, starting with why after all the trouble to track Chrome down, they’d just let me go. Some serious legwork would be needed in the morning.

-tbc- 


	3. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_** [Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 3/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

I decided to keep out of the mafia stuff for now. I’d only asked Bob to check them out so that I’d have some idea of what to expect if they came gunning for me. From the sound of it, it was a damn good thing I’d thought to. I’m pretty good at reacting on the fly, but in my line of work even a second or so of hesitation could cost me.

The twenty or so minutes I’d spend wisecracking if some thug pulled dice and jewelry on me would cost me a great deal more.

I set to work. What Chrome had given me included package tracking for a ring bought off eBay. I didn’t ask how she’d gotten it. The attached picture, of course, was the one Bob had used to identify the Hell Ring.

She’d also given me a plainer, normal ring, with a carved design of lotus flowers. At first I had no idea what it was for… which made it a godsend that she’d included notes as well.

I might have two of the holy blades and a book written in by an archangel taking residence in my home, but I was pretty sure that didn’t give me anywhere near the ‘have faith’ aura of the knights. I had the overwhelming feeling that I was being set up. It was just so rare that I cottoned on this early. Or that it was this obvious. That led to a whole round of circular logic that was even worse than the symbolism.

Sometimes I suspected I was turning into a White Court vampire minus the flawless bone structure and large barely-legal harems. I’m not built for constant did-they-didn’t-they guesswork. But I guess I’m so used to life upping the ante on me that I upped it myself just to cope. I put the ring on the table, and stared at it while thinking. I could sense a resonance about it, but without any idea what that resonance was or what it meant, I could set off a bomb, tracker, or bug just by touching it with my magic. Hell, it could be a bomb, tracker or bug just by being _there_. I’d been fooled by fancy jewelry before.

I’ve always relied on my magic to short out or sense any form of danger. It didn’t matter that I didn’t understand technology, so long as I could avoid it or kill it. And I had wards like fucking Fort Knox on my apartment. But the rings and boxes were some hybrid of technology and magic. A whole new ball game, only one that played with, say, Frisbees instead of balls.

No wonder the Vongola clamped down on the box trade. Surprise is often the most formidable of weapons, and eye-to-eye? It’s the weapons that win the war.

I don’t like not knowing things. It smacks of paranoia, but it’s true. Knowledge is power, and I can’t afford to ever be short of power. Chrome might be exactly what she presented herself as… or she might not. I’d never had as much double-talk with the fae as I had with Lara Raith. (Once you sat down and thought about it, an offhand ‘I’ve read the defensive assessment of your home’ is actually a lot more scary than ‘I’ve frozen the water in your eyes’.) Ortega was a kid in a sandbox compared to Nicodemus, fallen angel taken entirely out of the picture.

And the Merlin and Morgan combined didn’t scare me as much as Gentleman Johnny Marcone.

I’d thought she was a plain vanilla human.

But if vanilla’s so damn plain, why does everyone make it? That didn’t mean she couldn’t be just as tricky and dangerous in her own way.

_Occam’s Razor_, I told myself. The simplest solution is most often correct. Why would Chrome come to me? Judging from what she’d provided me with, finding the thing itself wouldn’t pose that much of a problem for her. She had no qualms or doubts about being able to retrieve it. Why’d she bother to hire me- an apparently completely unconnected party- if she could just get it herself?

Simplest answer: she couldn’t. Maybe she had to lay low for a while, or was busy with something else.

With, say, the Vongola in town. They knew who she was, and Tsuna had seemed close enough with her to ask to be informed if she was in trouble. If they were in town to see Marcone, then maybe they hadn’t tracked her here explicitly, especially since they’d left me without turning me upside-down and shaking me till I spilled. Grumpy had seemed about to- and would have gotten a nice faceful of flame for his trouble- but Tsuna had halted that right in it’s tracks.

Suddenly I cottoned on to who Grumpy reminded me of. He was slightly more loquacious than Hendricks, but damn if that surly attitude and bipolar nature didn’t fit Marcone’s most loyal bodyguard to a T. Threats to Marcone’s safety were just about the only thing that got Kujo fired up.

Which followed that Grumpy, however bipolar, considered Chrome or her actions a danger to his boss. Which led back to the ‘nothing is ever simple’ circle.

Thomas found me like that some time later, and it says quite a lot about our lives that he turned up dressed for war. I couldn’t see it, but I knew his teenage tank was taking up a lot of road outside.

“All hail Sparta,” I said, as he let himself in. His Desert Eagle and his curvy knife, he put by the door.

“You never saw that movie,” he accused, petting Mouse on his way into the kitchen to get a beer.

“I was thinking about the whole warrior race thing myself,” I shot back.

“Pop culture has taken all the shine from being geeky.”

“You said it.”

Thomas wandered back in and plopped next to me on the couch. I didn’t move.

“Uh, Harry,” he said. “Why are you staring at that ring as though it’s going to blow up?”

“Because it might,” I said. I gave him the lowdown on my latest mess. I left out the rainbow midget part.

Thomas absorbed it all and sat back, now also staring at the ring.

“…storms are coming, man,” he said.

“Leave the wisecracking to me,” I told him. “It’s not like I swan around being rampantly good-looking.”

“I mean,” said Thomas, “that this is kind of straying into mortal territory. Kind of like messing with Marcone, O Great Wisecracker.”

I sighed. “You don’t have to tell me that,” I told him. “I’ve already been on the forefronts of five or six supernatural wars, I don’t need the mob gunning for my ass while I’m at it.”

“So why am I here again?” said Thomas. “And I think you meant fifty.”

“I’m notifying my next-of-kin in case the mob makes me an offer I can’t refuse,” I said. I meant it to sound flippant, but it didn’t quite make it.

Thomas made a face at me that I’d previously only seen on- well, other people. Usually right after I say something stupid and tragic all at once.

Look, it doesn’t happen that often.

I coughed. “So, judging from this note, this ring is supposed to carry energy similar to that of the Hell Ring. Only there are about three hundred thousand questions about it.”

Thomas considered that. Then he raised a hand, and began counting off. “One,” he said. “where did she get it. Two: what does that mean. Three: how does she know that. Four-“

“Three hundred thousand is a figure of speech, Thomas,” I said patiently.

“I see,” said my brother, face perfectly straight. It’s not actually that difficult to see how we might have spawned from the same woman. We have the same sense of humour- suicidal.

“I think you’re thinking too much,” he announced. “I mean, you don’t have any reason to think that she’s anything other than on the up-and-up. Aside from the mafia thing.”

“That’s a pretty big thing,” I said.

He shrugged, and grinned at me white and reckless. “I think we could handle it.” Mouse wuffed.

I couldn’t help smiling back. It’s always really good to re-realise that someone’s always got your back. I reached forward to pick up the ring. “Okay.”

-tbc-


	4. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_** [Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 4/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

The ring led me- hell, everywhere. It was a while before I cottoned on that this ‘Mist’ attribute was actually much more of a personality type and thus that roughly one in every seven person would have at least traces of it’s energy. Bob ‘helped’ with this by enthusiastically sharing random bits of information, the fruits of his labor. He seemed to find the whole thing rapturously funny, something I envied him.

So I scaled back my tracking spell. In a clear burst of sheer commonsense, I set it to the amount of energy I found in the ring.

Three hits. I checked them out on little Chicago. One of them was the hotel where the Vongola were staying- I figured that they had mist rings there, or maybe a Hell Ring of their own. I filed it away as last priority. Somehow I didn’t think that Chrome would hire a PI to check out the Mob.

The second was in a much cheaper hotel, somewhere downtown. As I checked it, the energies coalesced into four spikes of Mist energy- one so pure and bright that the other three were almost obscured by it.

The third was on the road. And moving.

I don’t know what made me pick the moving one. All I know, I was out of there and into the Beetle almost before I picked up the ring to take along.

.0.

It led me to a warehouse. An empty warehouse. The sheer clichéd-ness of it made me sigh.

I settled down to watch it. If whoever it was held the Ring got out (since I sincerely doubted they were sleeping in a warehouse) I could tail them back to wherever they came from, make my report to Chrome and consider my job done.

I should have it tattooed on the back of my hand just so that I never forget: it’s never, _ever_ that easy.

Exhibit A: Gentleman John Marcone.

He didn’t have Gard with him. That was probably the only thing that saved me. I hadn’t forgotten the compressed death in that train locker. He did have Hendricks, as well as two others whom I didn’t recognize. They were both brown-haired, and built on the same scale as Hendricks. Other than that, I was too far away to make out details.

I prayed that he wasn’t involved. I could do with some favours on layaway with God, right? I didn’t need to get involved with the Mob.

_Don’t go into the building don’t go into the building don’t go into the-_

Marcone went into the building.

I cursed, got up, and went to get involved with the Mob.

As per narrative regulations, there were windows lining the top half of the warehouse. I got to one of them- long since broken- and peered in.

There must be some kind of code for warehouses, to make sure they’re all the same. This one was mostly dark, with only one spotlight and the paltry sunbeams creating a great deal of shadows.

Right in the centre of the warehouse was a midget dressed in black leather, apparently negotiating with Marcone. I nearly toppled from the roof. Then I noticed that there were _two_ midgets in black leather negotiating with Marcone- standing on a table, no less, one hooded, the other with a white motorcycle helmet on it’s head. And I promptly toppled from the roof. Through the window. Into the warehouse.

I smacked the ground pretty hard. Concrete, too. Dazzling.

Hendricks, Helmet and the other two goons drew on me in an instant. The other two barely bothered to turn their heads. Marcone arched a single eyebrow, and I knew that I was never, ever going to live this down.

Let me take a moment to describe Marcone, while I die from embarrassment. He’s perfectly put-together, three-thousand-dollar suit, Italian shoes, money-colored eyes and impeccably fit. I once saw this guy pull a knife out of damn well nowhere hanging upside-down over a werewolf pit, and he never dropped that composure for a single second. He’s also the scum of the earth, living proof that you can lack a soul (not literally, though you never know in this business) and still crave absolution for your conscience.

The midget who had a frog on- his? Her?- head instead of a motorcycle helmet spoke. “Mr. Marcone, what is this?” His voice was clear and high-pitched, unaccented and cold. Don’t ask me why I decided he was a he. It was something about the voice, the words and the tone combined. No woman who talks like that talks like _that_, if you get my meaning. No child, either. He reminded me of the Archive, when I’d first met her.

Helmet produced another gun (what the hell? From where? That thing was bigger than he was, and that leather was damn near skintight) and aimed it at Marcone. The two goons immediately shifted their guns to him. Hendricks, who is a hell of a lot smarter than he looks, although this is not hard, kept his pointed at me. “Who is he?” Helmet demanded. This one did sound like a boy- a brat, actually, though that might have just been the helmet. He even had a purple pacifier hanging around his neck. “Marcone, if you’ve double-crossed us-“

“I would beg you to please give me the credit of arranging a better double-cross than this,” drawled Marcone. “Although I am acquainted with Mr. Dresden here, I did not arrange for or know that he would be privy to our meeting today.”

“He just added another zero to my price,” said Froggy. I’m not sure if he was talking to me, Marcone or Helmet.

“Dresden,” said Marcone, suddenly a great deal less amused. I mean, for him. I’m glad to know that while me as assassin from above is funny, me as bargain deal-breaker is less so. “Do you have an extremely good reason for interrupting this very important meeting?”

At this point, to my eternal relief, the door to the warehouse burst open- no, were _blasted_ open, and Grumpy and the other Vongola guy strode in. Tsuna was right behind them, as was the girl and a redheaded guy with glasses. I was pretty sure that after seeing the rainbow midgets nothing would faze me, but even Marcone did a double-take, however slight- the kid’s head looked like it was on fire. It also licked around the seriously badass silver-and-leather gloves he was wearing, and glowed in his eyes, turning them amber and liquid and ice, ice cold.

“No,” said Tsuna, in a quiet, serious voice. “But we do.”

-tbc-


	5. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 5/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

And I thought _I _liked to make an entrance. Holy fuck.

“The Vongola Dying Will Flame,” murmured Marcone, and I could hear the edge of reverence in his voice.

I didn’t blame him. Tsuna was nearly unrecognizable from the shy, anxious kid I’d met yesterday. Even his accent had faded, to Chrome’s merest flavor of extra syllables.

“Vongola!” yelled Helmet. Froggy bit off something that sounded foul.

“Skull. Viper,” said Tsuna. “_Omae-tachi-_“

A giant tentacle cut him off. And when I say cut him off, I mean that a steel-tipped tentacle shot out of the shadows and crashed into the place where he was-

Not standing, having launched himself into the air with a blast of heatless flame. Men poured into the pool of light also from the shadows, and I cursed, fumbling for my staff. I’d thought the place was otherwise empty. Where had all these men come from?

Marcone had retreated against the wall, and drawn his gun. He was frowning at the horde, all of them identical, black-suited, rushing towards the Vongola contingent. They took little to no notice of us, which gave me the opportunity to study them. They _were_ off- a little too identical.

“Illusions,” I murmured, recalling Bob’s warning. Damn, whoever was doing them was good- nothing about them suggested that they weren’t real except for the wrongness. They attacked the Vongola, and were blown away as if they were no more than flies.

The swordsman (Ha!) had drawn a real live katana, and it glowed with a blue light. He cut through them lightning-fast, and I knew that he was about as good with it as Michael- had been. Red had disappeared, and Haru was calmly shooting a straggler with the cutest little weapon of death ever. Tsuna was doing battle with the giant armoured octopus and Helmet. Grumpy, shedding dynamite, drew a box. On his finger, a ring flamed up bright red. He inserted the ring into the box, and it let out a jaguar. Or at least I think it was a jaguar. It was roughly the right shape, although the red flames at it’s ankles meant that it probably wasn’t a real one.

“So that’s what a box does,” murmured Marcone. “I’d wondered.”

“Froggy’s gone,” I said. “You won’t be getting that Hell Ring, Marcone.”

One of the goons snarled, “Quiet, you.”

We ignored him. “I presume that you’ve been hired to track it down, Dresden?” said Marcone, not bothering to look surprised. “I’d take umbrage at that… if,” he added, “it wasn’t clear that this has been completely misrepresented to me.”

“This is like the freaking shroud of Turin all over again,“ I muttered. “In the meantime,” I said, “Can we please get away from this lovechild of Cthulhu and Attack of the Clones?”

“Your concern is utterly touching,” he said. “By all means lead the way.”

I sneered at him. Then, just to shut the goon up, I blasted a path without even looking. “You first.”

.0.

Red was standing outside the warehouse, and keeping watch in the manner of civilians who do not in fact know how to keep watch. You don’t twitch as much, for one. Also, you don’t stare worriedly into the area, watching the battle.

“Harri Dresden,” said Red when he noticed us, with only a trace of an accent. “Wizard.”

“You can look me up in the phonebook.”

Red hit me with a grumpy look. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he said.

“Excuse me,” I said, since I was clearly not going to get into something that someone else already had well in hand. “But is that or is that not a cat six feet long that just came out of a box two inches across?”

Red colored redder. I crack me up. “This is different,” he said. “It’s a box weapon. Science.”

“Any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic,” I told him. Marcone, I noticed, was making a phone call on a thing smaller than my palm and more expensive than my life. I concentrated a brief spike of energy, and was pettily pleased to hear Marcone hiss in a breath and drop it as it burst into flame. “Since you can’t explain it either way.”

“Any sufficiently analyzed magic is indistinguishable from science,” he replied. He had a surprisingly sly grin. “Since you _can_ explain it either way.”

I snorted at him. He frowned slightly, then appeared to come to a decision. “Mr. Dresden- Chrome, when she approached you. Did she seem strange?”

I stared at him. “She was a one-eyed Asian girl with purple hair,” I said. “Please redefine your search patterns.”

Red laughed in spite of himself. “I mean- mystically. Any sense of something off, something like… possession?”

I started. “You think she might have been possessed?”

“She kind of- permanently is,” said Red thoughtfully. “Um. Tsuna’s usually the only one who can tell.”

“This must be a language barrier thing,” I told him. “Because possessions don’t work like that.”

“I- don’t think there’s another word for it. Even in Japanese. Was there- was there a sense of another presence with her?”

I closed my eyes and thought back. Was there- maybe- “A laugh,” I said, finally. “A laugh that didn’t seem like it came from her. Unless she laughs with her mouth shut.”

Some of the tension went out of Red’s frown. “I see,” he said, mostly to himself. “If he’s with her…”

There was a little inflection to the ‘he’ that I usually associated with capitalization. I let it go. It seemed as though Red had his own troubles, and interfering with what Chrome hired me for wasn’t on the list.

Besides. A little goodwill is a precious thing. I didn’t much fancy having to go through Grumpy the next time I wanted to speak with Tsuna. And that little girl- Haru, they’d called her- had been all smiles until she put three rounds through that guy’s head, stone-cold. She hadn’t bothered going for a box. Because she didn’t have one, or because she didn’t need it? Either way, I didn’t want to test her if it came down to it.

Even if she had know it was an illusion.

“So,” I said, as the cat did something to the octopus and Grumpy snarled something that from the look of Red’s face involved something else much more unpleasant he was going to do to- or was it with?- the octopus’s tentacles. “Why’re you guys looking for her?”

“Oh, she does this a lot,” Red said. “Not- this, exactly, but she, um, travels almost all the time and we rarely hear from her. We’ve- heard of you. When she approached you, Tsuna wanted to find out why.”

Tsuna wanted. Not we. Chrome was beginning to sound like a prodigal daughter. What hold did she have on Tsuna, or was he really an all-around straight guy?

“Who were the midgets?” I said. Bob had known nearly nothing, beyond the fact that they existed.

“Mid- oh, those two? Skull and Viper,” he said. “The _Arcobaleno_, the rainbow babies. They’re breaking Mafia law by selling the rings to outsiders. The Calcassa family is trying to rebel in Chicago.”

I noted that Marcone was listening in with great interest. I was not going to get involved with a mob war, I told myself. I was not.

“Tsuna doesn’t like that?” I said, as casually as I could. Marcone was now giving me a ‘Dresden, _really_?’ face, which Red noticed exactly none. I hoped no one ever let this kid play poker.

“No,” he said, wincing as the giant octopus stuck the floor very hard, barely missing Tsuna. “He- we- the box trade is forbidden, under mafia law-“

Marcone made another face, this one probably entirely for my benefit. It meant, ‘law? What law? I spit at your law!’

…or maybe I’d hit my head on the way down just now. Or the crazy was contagious.

This was illustrated, quite nicely, by the swordsman walking out of the warehouse with Helmet clutched to his chest, spewing foul curses in a variety of languages. He was followed by Grumpy and Haru, both of whom were inexplicably soaking wet and clearly giving him what-for in Japanese. Tsuna strolled out last, pulling off his own dripping jacket as the flame on his head and hands flared and died.

-tbc- 


	6. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. Serious spoiler for _Small Favour_ in this one. Use of '&lt;' and "&gt;" here indicate that they are speaking in Japanese, because even I'm not that much of a masochist.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 6/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. Serious spoiler for _Small Favour_ in this one. Use of '&lt;' and "&gt;" here indicate that they are speaking in Japanese, because even I'm not that much of a masochist.

 

He said something to the swordsman, who nodded and bowed at us before wandering off still holding Helmet. Haru bobbed a little bow to us too, before following him with a speed appropriate for a woman with a soaked-through white shirt.

Then Tsuna bowed to us. I started to feel awkward. If Grumpy bowed to us too, I might have had to do something desperate to even the scales of good behavior, like hold my tongue.

Luckily, Grumpy just glared at us. Hendricks glared at him. There was perhaps a second or two in which everyone watched them glare at each other, and then dismissed them from the conversation.

“Marcone-san, Dresuden-san,” said Tsuna. “I… apologize. Those two are- bad. I had to…take…act?”

Red coughed discreetly. “As I have already explained to you two, Mafia law forbids the unauthorized sale of class A rings. Furthermore, Viper, the one who got away, was acting independently from the family, which is not allowed. Tsuna acted decisively to capture them- while unfortunately Viper got away with the ring.”

“&lt;I was under the impression that he was properly authorized by the Vongola family&gt;,” said Marcone smoothly in Japanese. I blinked at him. Tsuna sighed in relief. It was obvious that he hadn’t understood one word in ten of Red’s explanation. I hadn’t understood a word of Marcone’s, but there was enough oil in his voice to slick the Atlantic.

“&lt; I apologize for my inadequacy in English, Marcone-san,&gt;” said Tsuna. “&lt;I also apologise for not informing you of Viper’s… unauthorization by more civilized means. However, we only learned of his involvement an hour ago- most of which was spent trying to locate him. You understand, I think, that I would not like to have weapons traded with such impunity.&gt;”

Marcone’s smile had turned sharp and brittle. “&lt; And- pardon, but speaking hypothetically, what would you do if I, deeming it necessary, trade for these weapons with this… impunity?&gt;”

“&lt;Am I not here?&gt;” said Tsuna. “&lt;Please, I hope that it will not come to that- more, that it does not come to you having to obtain them in dark warehouses by haggling with people like Viper and the Calcassa family. We had a meeting. We were to talk. Let us save our judgments until then.&gt;”

“What are they saying?” I stage-whispered to Red. They’d moved a little off to speak, and we were upwind of them.

“Tsuna’s trying to convince him not to get rings and boxes from those scum,” murmured Red. “And to wait till the official meeting before taking any action.”

“Marcone doesn’t take orders from anyone,” I assured Red.

“Tsuna doesn’t give them,” he said. “He’s- special. I think it would be best for us all to wait.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

Red blinked at that. “All six of Tsuna’s guardians are in Chicago,” he said. “If it comes to that, we can destroy him. There would be a power vacuum, and repercussions from Marcone’s allies- but we could do it. They’ll both want to avoid that.”

“You think seven people are going to win a mafia war,” I said flatly.

“I don’t think it would take that many of them,” said Irie. “Tsuna’s negotiations with Marcone will serve as an example of his international policy for his rule. He needs this to go well, to not appear weak. If he needs to, he will _make_ him an example.”

I stepped back. Red’s words had worse than the ring of truth- they had the clang of conviction, sheer matter-of-fact this-is-what-will-happen. Seven people against Marcone’s empire? I wouldn’t bet on it.

But then again, I wouldn’t bet on _me_.

Tsuna and Marcone finished their little tete-a-tete. The mob boss called off Grumpy and they all went off, trotting obediently behind him. Marcone, without so much as a glance at me, stalked around the corner to his car.

Feeling rather surplus to requirements, I went home. I found a payphone and called up Thomas and Murphy, asking them to meet at my place. Regroup, reassess, recover.

.0.

I got back to the apartment, where Thomas had found the cake my fairy housekeepers had left me this week (topped with some strange, pungent fruit pulp that nevertheless sent stars flying behind my eyes as it made Mouse sneeze), and he and Murphy were sitting on my couch a conciliatory distance from each other, apparently speculating on what could have happened to me. Eating my cake.

“S’ a nice cake,” said Thomas, when I pointed this out to him. “Where’d you get it?”

I shrugged. You never talk about fairy housekeepers. It’s easier to let them think I’m suddenly weirdly neat. And forgetful. I laid out the events of the afternoon on them.

“Giant octopus?” was all Murphy had to say at first, while Thomas was still chuckling over me falling through the window.

“Might’ve been a box animal,” I said. “Grumpy had one- this fricking huge jungle cat with red flames. I’d love to know where the swordsman managed to get all that water from, too.”

“Rainbow midgets,” said Thomas. “Box animals. Tiny mob bosses who get away with threatening Marcone. You face some weird shit, Harry.”

“The secretly straight hairdresser sex vampire prince will shut up now, please,” I told him. “And I don’t think Tsuna was exactly threatening him- more like telling him. Pleading, maybe.”

Murphy frowned. “No one threatens Marcone.”

“From the looks of it, no one threatens the little guy, either,” said Thomas. “I mean- seven people? And the entire Chicago underworld? Can’t be done.”

“Not if Marcone can’t get his hands on some boxes,” I corrected. Sheer weight of numbers only meant something when the numbers weren’t cutting and running.

Murphy was frowning more. I resisted the urge to say something snide about wrinkles- I was still sore from landing on the warehouse floor. “Dresden- the guy said possession? Really?”

I nodded. “He must have been mistaken, though- possessions don’t work like that and I didn’t really sense anything from on that level. Why? What are you thinking?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Never ask a woman what she’s thinking, Harry. You can’t get a straight answer.”

“Shut up, prettyboy,” said Murphy. “I’m thinking that maybe she’s in possession of one of those thirty silver coins.”

This made me blink. Chrome, a Denarian?

She shrugged. “You talked about glowing swords, and then possession and being unable to find supernatural information on her, and then a war with far-reaching consequences, so…” All hail the human subconscious. I considered it.

“…Unlikely,” I said. I couldn’t help stealing a glance at my umbrella stand, where two of the holy swords still rested. With it came twinge of guilt, the same one I had every time Molly came over with more news on her dad's progress. “Sanya’s pretty over stretched, but I think that he’d call or something if there was a problem- plus,” I said, “Ivy’s been on the hunt for them here and there- she’d tell me, for sure.”

Thomas whistled. “Girl knows how to hold a grudge.”

“Can’t blame her,” I reminded him. “Anyway, I don’t think Chrome was a Denarian. But I do want to look in more to the ‘Six Paths’ thing, and see if I can track the Hell Ring again. If I hit in the early hours, I might get a jump on that baby.” I paused. “I can’t believe I just said I wanted to get a jump on a baby.”

Murphy snorted, stood up, and stretched. “So that’s my news for tonight, huh? Mob war with supernatural overtones brewing in the city. Lovely.”

“Off already?” I said, ignoring Thomas’s meaningful _so do something_ look.

He thinks he’s subtle. He’s not, really.

“Shift. I’ll pass along the word to be careful out there- hah, see if we can file a missing child’s report.”

“He had a frog on his head,” I said. “Don’t forget.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find, then,” said Murphy, and waved as she went up my steps.

“Don’t say it,” I warned Thomas.

He shut his mouth, looking affronted. Then he opened it again. “I was only going to suggest that we consult Bob.”

“Glad to hear it.”

We trooped down to the basement, and then I stopped dead, heart dropping into my spleen and terror turning my blood to ice.

Bob's eyes, usually a warm orange glow, burned one red, and one blue.

-tbc-  



	7. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[khr/dresden](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/khr/dresden), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 7/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese.

I once heard my superior officer call Bob a nightmare, too much power under too little control. I knew that. I knew that Bob was the kind of resource wars could be fought over- and it was mostly thanks to him that I turned up anywhere near as prepared as I did anywhere. What he had locked away inside his head- or just inside his head- was knowledge that could pose serious dangers to the world, if it ever got out.

Therefore, it was really fucking terrifying- not to mention creepy - to go down those stairs and see red and blue where his familiar orange should be.

I readied my blasting rod. “Who the fuck are you?” I shouted.

The skull quirked an eyebrow at me. I don’t even know how. “I blame your cat, Dresden” said whatever was inside Bob. It- _he_ had a voice like deep rich caramel and the slide of scales over skin. Like most things that are too sweet, it set my teeth on edge. “Tell me, does it usually chase down and attempt to eat purple glowing owls?”

“I said,” I growled, “who. The. Fuck. Are. You.”

_Kufufu_. “You met Tsunayoshi, didn’t you? Did none of his little dogs… mention me?”

Red and his hesitation, Chrome and her laugh. Fuckdamn, I’m slow. “You’re with Chrome, aren’t you?” I said. “Her constant possession whatever. Were all the good horror movie clichés taken?”

_Kufufu_. “How- characteristic. Tell me, since this was largely an unplanned occurrence- how that’s ring search getting along? Found anything particularly interesting yet?”

I exchanged glances with Thomas. On one hand, this was an opportunity to learn more about how much shit I’d been landed in. On the other, I had no reason whatsoever to trust the voice.

“Don’t trust me?” he said. _Kufufu_. “I have no quarrel with you, wizard. My business is simply with Tsunayoshi and the Hell Ring.”

I proceeded with caution. “Who are you?” I said.

“Rokudo Mukuro, Vongola Guardian of the Mist,” murmured the skull. “You are Harry Dresden, wizard, and _you_ are Thomas Raith, disowned prince of the White Court. Your sister sends her love.”

“I have several,” said Thomas levelly.

“So you do,” said the skull, managing to convey in those three words that the skull not only knew this but had intimate _knowing_ of those sisters, in very much the Raith family tradition. _Kufufufu_. I longed for him to have a face so that I could punch it, and I didn’t even know many of Thomas’s sisters. “I was speaking of Miss Lara. In fact, when she found out we were headed to Chicago in search of the ring, she recommended _you_ to us, Mr. Dresden.”

“Have I pissed Lara off lately?” I asked Thomas.

Thomas shot me a look. “You breathe, don’t you?”

“True,” I muttered. “If he’s from Lara, is he-?”

“Miss Lara and I share interests, nothing more,” said the skull. “I find her highly admirable.”

Thomas and I sent looks of _like that helps_ at each other. Lara had recommended me, had she? That was- complicated. Lara and I existed on a system of mutual blackmail, and maybe mutual leverage. Did it suit her purposes to throw me into Marcone’s affairs and kick off his fall?

“Peace,” said the skull. “Miss Lara is quite wholly uninvolved in this. I’m simply here for the Hell Ring. Tsunayoshi’s little peace effort interests me not at all.”

“Aren’t you his guardian?” I said. _All seven of Tsuna’s guardians are in Chicago_. Haru didn’t wear the rings that the swordsman and Grumpy had, heavy on the middle fingers of their right hands. I hadn’t got such a good look, but the thing flaming in the middle of Tsuna’s chest might have been an old-fashioned, heavy ring on a chain. “I should say anything he does concerns you, shouldn’t I?”

“I only follow Tsunayoshi for his body,” purred the skull. “The Mafia? I’d like to wipe them off the face of the earth. Tsunayoshi is allowed to continue only because I want him at his most powerful. That’s all.”

I tried very hard not to imagine a skull romancing Tsuna. What was this Rokudo Mukuro, and how _had_ he ended up in Bob’s skull? I’d given Bob permission to scout around, but since Mister had been home (although retreated to the top of the bookshelf due to the smell of the cake), I’d assumed he was in here.

Thomas dragged me up the stairs. “What do we do?” he hissed.

“How should I know?” I hissed back. “We need to find Bob, but-“ Something occurred to me.

“If he didn’t mean to speak to me…” I said. “Then… why is he still here?”

“He’s lying,” said Thomas promptly.

“I thought we agreed not to think in circles anymore,” I said.

“This guy just name-dropped Lara Raith,” said Thomas calmly. “You remember, shadow Queen of the White Court, mastermind of that little nudge the freaks towards extinction plan, double-talking sex vampire? Circles are the only way to deal with her.”

I frowned. “No… I…” I said, thinking hard. These brain cells can actually go pretty fast if I push them, and I can push them hard. “I think we need to take this to the next level.”

Thomas blinked. “You’re going to nuke the skull? But what about Bob?”

“No,” I said. “But pretty close.”

.0.

Here’s how you tell how expensive a hotel is: how well they treat the riffraff coming through their shiny glass doors. The concierge had taken one look at me and wrinkled their noses, but the card I’d gotten from the girl immediately erased all traces of hostility.

“Top floor, sir,” said the girl.

“Um, where exactly?” I said. I’d taken a quick look at the brochures, and knew that the top floor consisted of about three penthouse suites, each of which had bathrooms bigger than my whole apartment. I didn’t fancy knocking on rich people’s doors trying to find the Vongola party.

The girl gave me a look that said,_ believe it, buster. “_Top floor, sir,” she repeated.

Damn, it must be good working in the mob. Why didn’t I, again?

“You live in a basement,” said Thomas when I asked him this. “Everyone really just figures you’re seriously fucked in the head. Oh, and that martyr complex probably doesn’t help.”

I struggled to control myself. At fifteen floors up, the elevator stalling would be one more problem we didn’t need right now. “I do not have a martyr complex,” I said.

Thomas refrained from further comment, and we reached the top without incident.

Left to random chance, I just walked for the nearest one and rang the bell. There was some indecipherable yelling from inside, and I glanced at Thomas. “Does that sound like…” I murmured.

“Kids,” said Thomas, face blank.

The door was yanked open by a young boy, no more than nine or ten, green-eyed and black-haired. He was dressed in a white shirt with- I kid you not- cow-print pants, and he was lanky with traces of baby fat still on his face.

Most arresting of all, he had a Vongola ring on his finger, like those I’d seen on Grumpy and the swordsman, heavy and distinctive. This kid was one of the Vongola Guardians, one of the most powerful mobsters in the world.

-tbc-


	8. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[absolute fail](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/absolute%20fail), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order), [someone shoot me please](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/someone%20shoot%20me%20please)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 8/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;.

 

There was a pause as I blinked at him, and he stared at us, albeit fairly politely. “…yes?” he said. “Um, do you want anything? I mean, why have you come here?”

It says so much about how weird my life is that more than his age or his position, his accent threw me. It was pure Italian in what had been a constant stream of Japanese.

Thomas poked me in the back. “This is Harry Dresden,” he said. “He has something to talk to your boss about.”

“_You’re_ Harry Dresden?” said the kid, still politely. “And you are…?”

“Unimportant,” said Thomas dryly.

My wiseass reflexes immediately smacked me into action. “You’re telling me,” I said. I turned to the kid. “Er- hi. I, um, met some of your other people earlier today. You could call them? Um.”

“Ahh- yes,” said the kid. “Um. Please, come in.”

“Smooth,” Thomas muttered to me.

“Bite me,” I hissed back.

“Please take off your shoes, if you don’t mind,” said the kid, as though two grown men bickering like children was nothing worth noticing.

“What was that?” Thomas said to me in a low voice when we bent over to remove our shoes- a Japanese custom, if I remembered correctly. “You looked at the kid like he was grim death.”

The kid had gone down a long corridor, well out of current hearing range. “He’s got a ring,” I said to my brother.

“So?” he said. “These people look plenty loaded, I bet their kids think nothing of jewelry.”

“A _Vongola_ ring,” I said. “He’s a mobster. He’s one of Tsuna’s guardians.”

Thomas looked at me like I was insane. “He’s _nine_.”

“Exactly,” I said. I stood up and started down the hall. “Be on guard,” I cautioned him as we went to the door the kid had disappeared into, which he’d left open for us. “There might be some real mean characters in there.”

Then we stepped through, and a young teen was sprawled on the sofa with Haru, another girl about her age and a nine or ten year-old girl with long plaits. There was a laptop open on the coffee table with a digital camera hooked up to it, and pictures of that group minus Haru on the screen, posing. The whole place was- messy. I don’t mean sty or bachelor pad messy- it was just cluttered in a lived-in way, a bit like the Carpenter household. Things happened here. People were happy and vibrant. It was so far from the sterile luxury I’d been expecting that for a moment I was sure the kid was having us on.

“Oh, yeah, real mean,” murmured Thomas, who, like me, never passes up a chance at a wisecrack. The difference is that I sound good doing it, while he just sounds smarmy. It’s a gift.

Haru looked up at that, and _eek_-ed so loudly we both flinched. “Dresuden-san!” she said, and fell over the back of the sofa trying to get to me. She got up very fast, and began shoving me towards another door.

“Wha-“ I said.

“The laptop, the laptop!” she cried, pushing me even faster. Don’t ask me how a skinny little chick like her managed to move me across the room like that. She couldn’t have been half my size.

“&lt;Sorry, guys!&gt;” she called over her shoulder in Japanese. “&lt;Haru has some business to attend to, so I’ll look at your pictures later, okay?&gt;”

“Go, go!” she hissed at me. “Your magic- _ano techno_\- “

“I’m going, I’m going,” I said. She was right- my magic would kill that laptop in minutes, less if I got angry or actually started using it. I imagined explaining to that cozy little group that I’d destroyed their tourist photographs and moved faster. Thomas was laughing. I could hear him.

We slammed into the next room down a long corridor and a connecting door, startling Grumpy and the kid, who were clearly arguing with each other. I don’t know why I was complete unsurprised that Grumpy couldn’t even get along with a nice little polite kid like that.

Haru sighed in relief. “_Yokata_…” she said. “Dresuden-san, shouldn’t you be more careful around tech when you’re like that?” she lectured me, as if magic was a state like pregnancy or having a disease. Everyone in the room watched as I was dressed down like a kid at convent school.

“Enough,” said Grumpy, grinding out a butt. “Dresden. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“&lt;I told you,&gt;” said the kid sulkily. “&lt;It was him, like you said.&gt;”

“&lt;Shut up, you stupid cow,&gt;” said Grumpy. “&lt;Why’d you let him in? He might be here to kill us all.&gt;”

“&lt;Gokudera-kun, no!&gt;” cried Haru. “&lt;I’m sure that he isn’t- anyway, he’s a guest, shut up. You two are being rude.&gt;”

I brought out the skull, carefully ignoring the steady stream of impassioned Japanese. The kid, for all his English had been accented with Italian, spoke it with a lilting speed that spoke of long familiarity.

Haru screamed. “_Skullu_!” she shrieked. “&lt;Ahh, he’s got a skull!&gt;” She jumped up and ran around the room, finally ending up in Grumpy’s lap, still shrieking.

“&lt;Fucking hell, woman, what do you think you’re doing?&gt;” roared Grumpy.

Fortunately for all concerned, the skull chose this time to _kufufu_. Loudly. “I’m glad to see you two have managed to progress so far in your relationship, Gokudera Hayato, Miura Haru-chan.”

Grumpy bit right through his cigarette, swallowing the other end. “Rokudo-“ _cough, cough, choke_\- “Mukuro?”

“&lt;You’ve all been working hard, haven’t you?&gt;” it said. “&lt;Even up to the point of interfering with Chicago’s kingpin. But you’ve almost lost me my Hell Ring. How do you intend to compensate me for that?&gt;”

“&lt;Compen-&gt;” sputtered Grumpy, which set off a shouting match between the lot of them. I set the skull on a table, utterly unnoticed, and backed off to watch the fireworks.

“Looks like they know him,” said Thomas, in what might just possibly have been the understatement of the year. “In between the kid, the girl, the mobster and the inanimate object, who’s winning?”

There was no contest whatsoever: Grumpy was losing. There was a lull as he picked up the Skull, turned it upside-down, and then fought with Haru over it; accompanied by a never-ending tirade of Japanese.

“What do we do now?” I said to him.

“We could fetch a hammer,” said Grumpy, retiring from the battle still raging between Haru and the skull. Despite myself and Bob, I heartily agreed with that sentiment; listening to Rokudo Mukuro _kufufu_ on and on while being cryptic had shredded the last of my patience.

“You can fetch Tsunayoshi, _fucker_,” snarled Mukuro. Haru had her tiny fist stuck into the neck hole, and was waving it around, lecturing him in her high-pitched, squeaky voice. The image of the young woman fresh-faced and irresistibly cute clashed terribly with my image of her earlier today, hard-eyed, armed and dangerous.

It flashed through my mind, and it quickly doused my urge to start laughing. Sure, these were decent people. And yeah, we weren’t exactly enemies, which in my book is sometimes as good as allies.

But I couldn’t let down my guard with them, and they wouldn’t be letting down theirs with me. I only hoped they’d let me go with Bob without thinking too deeply into his usefulness, or bargaining for him. Come to that, I didn’t even know if they _could_ do anything about Bob. Rokudo Mukuro had managed to say a great deal without actually saying anything. I’d bet everything on one thing, pure instinct-

“Not need, Mukuro-san,” came a new voice, sweet and slightly weary and all the purer for it. “I am here.”

-that Sawada Tsunayoshi was a good man.

-tbc-


	9. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[fail](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/fail), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order), [someone shoot me please](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/someone%20shoot%20me%20please)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 9/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;

“_Tsunayoshi_,” said Mukuro, and his voice was- indescribable. There was exasperation there, and amusement, tones of hate and disdain and reverence and adoration, plus a decidedly unhealthy dose of come-hither. I was glad he didn’t have a face for us to look upon. At. Whatever.

“_Jyuudaime_!” said Grumpy. “_Ano- kore wa-_“

“_Ore kiiteru desu_, Gokudera-kun,” said Tsuna. “Mukuro-san, _konbanwa_.”

“The whole floor heard,” said Red, tousled, scowling and pulling off a set of large headphones. “I don’t think you could have shouted &lt;Mukuro, fucking stop starting Mafia wars!&gt; any louder, by the way. Were you afraid Africa couldn’t hear you?”

“_Shouichi-kun_,” purred Mukuro. I’ve had death threats more friendly.

“Mukuro-san,” said Red, and smiled right back in the creepiest closed-eyes smile I’ve ever seen. Grumpy twitched a bit upon seeing it.

Tsuna made a refined little facial expression that was at once chagrined and amused and disapproving and repressed, and bowed to us. “Harii-san,” he said. “Goodu- goodu evuning! Hello!”

“Um,” I said. “Hi.”

He smiled at me, and once again it transformed him from baby-faced and perpetually bemused to good-looking on a scale I can only kick at enviously. He nodded at Thomas, who was taking it all in with an air of someone else who made anything look good. “Friendu?”

“Yes, _friends_,” murmured Mukuro in a voice that would have been nudge-nudge winking all over the place if there’d been anything at all to nudge with. Tsuna and Red looked blank while Haru gasped, said something high-pitched and breathy in Japanese and looked at us starry-eyed.

Grumpy choked. Red blinked furiously and turned bright red, staring at me and Thomas. Thomas and I. Whatever. Mukuro _kufufu_ed.

“Every damn time,” I muttered, and glared at Thomas before he could drape himself over me and coo. He thinks this kind of thing is funny. I don’t.

Tsuna blinked exactly twice and said brightly, “_Hontou_? Harii-san, _omae_-“

I held up a hand to stop him. There’s really only so many wacky hijinks borne of hilarious misunderstandings I can take. “Um,” I said. “I’m sorry, but-“ I stepped forward, locking my eyes on Tsuna’s face. “Please,” I said. “Look at me.”

His eyes met mine without fear or hesitation- although that might have been because he had no idea what I said.

The soulgaze began.

I see a person’s soul in images, symbols and metaphor. I looked into Sawada Tsunayoshi’s soul- and saw a child.

It was Tsuna in miniature, barely tall enough to reach the top of my knees. Tears leaked from enormous eyes, and a terrible sweetness and innocence radiated from him. Across- a lion. Large and magnificent, it’s mane was a dark orange, the color of the flames I’d seen on him earlier today.

Behind the both of them, barely defined along the shadows, was a man on a throne. The child turned to look at him when I did, and the light surrounding the child- _fell_ onto the figure, bringing it slowly into focus and definition, a living person emerging from stone emerging from shadow.

Again, it was Sawada Tsunayoshi- but with a tense and arrogant look on his face. He was wearing a suit, full mafia regalia, and a gun dangled from one hand. At first I thought the shirt he was wearing was black, but as the light fell on it, it became clear that it was a dark, deep red- something once white, soaked in blood. His eyes were empty, and they locked onto the kid- a contemptuous, hungry stare.

Then the child jerked his gaze away when the lion laid a paw over his hand, and the figure faded into the shadow again.

And then I was back, and the Tenth head of the Vongola family blinked at me in slow, steady strokes. There was a flash of that terrible emptiness resting on me just between one blink and the next, the considering gaze of the carnivore tempered with human cruelty- and then it was gone, to be replaced by a smile.

“_Ah, sou_,” he said, and I knew that I’d been- not right, perhaps. But I knew what he was now. He directed that smile at me as his people sputtered, certain that something had happened; uncertain exactly what.

“I need your help,” I told him, and took the skull from Haru. “This is mine,” I said. Tsuna blinked at it, and his mouth twisted again, in that very repressed expression that actually put me rather in mind of Michael.

“It was like this when I met him,” I said hastily. “But the skull- your guardian is not supposed to be in there.”

“Such brilliance,” said Mukuro, voice dripping sarcasm. “Tsunayoshi, Tsunayoshi,” he said, and went off into a long monologue in Japanese that was part whine and part obvious complaint.

“Fucking shut up,” I snarled. I may have dragged manners up from some long-forgotten place for Tsuna, but the smug little snake in the skull ground on my nerves. And on Red’s and Grumpy’s as well, clearly, judging from the way they all were so close to fighting like cats in a sack. “What did you do to Bob?”

“I said it’s your fucking cat’s fault, _Wizard_,” he spat, and the red and blue lights that I thought represented his eyes flared.

“His _cat_?” said everyone there who could speak English at once, and again a babble of voices rose.

Tsuna looked worried. “&lt;Mukuro-san, Mukuro-san, please try to remember what happened after that. Harii-san has been very good to u-&gt;”

“&lt;Do you think I want to be stuck in this skull?&gt;” grumbled Mukuro. “&lt;And he’s fucking stupid is what he is.&gt;”

“Mukuro-san!”

“&lt;He had the ring,&gt;” said Mukuro, and the red in his eye was burning. “&lt;He had the ring, and he had Viper, and there was Marcone in full sight, and now YOU have _let them go_.&gt;”

Tsuna got that repressed look on his face again. I thought I heard the word _Marcone_ in Mukuro’s rant, but frankly, if I was a guy faced with the possible need to wipe Marcone and gangland Chicago off the map in order to suppress full-scale mafia war, I’d have a lot to repress.

“&lt;And you came here for a holiday!&gt;” shrieked the skull, clearly determined to get all this off his chest. “&lt;You took the children _sight-seeing_ and then you take a side-trip to convince Chicago’s Don not to try and fight you! You bring that stupid _Shouichi _with you, instead of Sasagawa and Hibari and all the firepower you can amass! Why are you so stupid! They say the wizard works for him, and even the White Court warns me against the wizard! And you _let him into the-&gt;_“

“I have no idea what any of you are saying,” I announced, mostly to keep them from forgetting me.

Grumpy, who had been trying to break into the conversation several times and failed due to froth-filled incoherence, continued to make interesting but indecipherable noises.

The swordguy poked his head into the room. “&lt;Hey! It’s the magic-guy! Why didn’t anyone tell me we had guests?&gt;”

More interesting yet indecipherable noises followed, mostly in the sword-guy’s general direction. Mukuro continued bawling out Tsuna, who was petting the skull in a fruitless attempt to calm him down.

“Hi!” he said to me, and then grinned, having evidently pretty much exhausted his store of English conversation.

I decided I liked sword-guy. There was no intimidation there, no swagger or banter. If he wanted to hurt me, I had no doubt I would be in great danger. Since he didn’t, we would get along just fine until he did.

Grumpy turned away from us with an uncomplimentary noise. The sword-guy grinned a long slow smiling smirk, walking over to Grumpy to sling an arm around his shoulders. Grumpy swatted at him and grumbled.

I blinked at them exactly once. Nothing to see there, clearly.

Mukuro wound down, and Tsuna nodded to the sword-guy, and he nodded back, ushering Grumpy and Haru from the room tactfully. The kid went with them, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Now if Shouichi will only go beddy-bye, the children will be gone,” said Mukuro silkily.

“Some of us actually have _work_, Mukuro,” said Irie. “We don’t just travel around bumming off the pity of our old enemies.”

There was a meaningful silence. “…when I have my arms,” said Mukuro thoughtfully, “You will _suffer_.”

“Perhaps there will be snakes in my bed,” said Irie. “_Grow up_.”

“Suneku?” said Tsuna, looking puzzled.

“An _excellent_ idea,” said Mukuro, and then a wall exploded.

“What the hell was that?” said Thomas, probably inaccurately. Tsuna looked down at his dust-covered suit sadly, and at the wall, then sighed with the precision of someone who knows that despite how much money he has, the management is going to be a _bitch_.

“&lt;So.&gt;” said a man better-looking than Grumpy and sword-guy combined, dressed in a long dark bathrobe, which had somehow escaped the white dust now choking the room. “&lt;Damn. _Noisy_.&gt;” He glared around at all of us impartially, unnaturally perfect face bearing the very faintest traces of a scowl.

I decided to name him Bitchy. Behind Bitchy, another tall, capable-looking Asian man with a truly magnificent pompadour very very carefully opened the door on the far side of the adjoining room and stared at the hole with dismay.

“Hibari-san,” said Tsuna, sadly, with the full effect of his disappointed, understanding gaze focused on Bitchy. “&lt;Why have you broken another hotel?&gt;”

Bitchy blinked at Tsuna, long slow lifts of his long eyelashes and threw a bundle of white down at the lot of us. Then he turned around, stalked to the door, and said, “&lt;If I wake up again tonight, I’m biting you all to death,&gt;” and left.

“And I thought I had interesting associates,” I said, a touch weakly. “What’s that?”

An owl unfolded itself from the floor, spreading large white wings, “Hey, Harry!” said Bob cheerfully. “You know, owls are way more interesting than Mister.”

-tbc- 


	10. Of The Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;, _in spades_.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[fucking finally](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/fucking%20finally), [of the highest order](http://half-sleeping.livejournal.com/tag/of%20the%20highest%20order)  
  
---|---  
  
_**[Dresden Files/Reborn] Of The Highest Order; 10/?**_

Title: Of The Highest Order  
Series: KHR/Dresden Files (book)  
Genre: Er. General?  
Note: I... wouldn't advise taking this on without at least some knowledge about both series. Peripheral spoilers for Blood Rites onward. In KHR, spoilers for the world-details in the TYL arc. Also, random Japanese. The return of the &lt;&gt;, _in spades_.

Instant pandemonium ensued. The skull’s boat lights blazed, and he started shrieking. He had a good shrieking voice. It lost all the really annoying notes of self-satisfied smugness, and burst out of him unrestrained and alive and _real_.

Grumpy, Haru and the swordsman burst back into the room, weapons drawn, and presumably demanded to know what was going in, adding their voices to the din. Red started yelling an explanation at them, which only served to confuse things further.

I started shouting at Bob. Come on, you can hardly blame me.

Bob scratched at one wing with his beak. Tsuna reached over and stroked him absently, the other hand stuck over his ear.

Thomas blinked, sighed, filled his lungs, and shouted, “URUSAI!”

We shut up, blinking at him. What the hell? Thomas spoke Japanese? _Thomas_ spoke Japanese? Why had he not told me this? What the fuck had he said?

“Thank you, Raith-san,” said Tsuna. He frowned tinily at the mobsters, and said, “&lt;Hibari-san has broken the wall. Haru-chan, Gokudera-kun, please go and placate the management and make sure the cops don’t show up. Yamamoto-kun, please ensure that Hibari will not break anything else tonight. Shouichi, make sure the girls are alright. Mukuro-san, _calm down_.&gt;”

The others gathered themselves and departed, as I stood there nonplussed. He turned to us, and said “You two- alright? Okay?”

I was still a little shell-shocked by the sudden cessation of crisis. “Um what yes,” I said intelligently.

“Harry, is it past your bedtime?” said Bob.

“Quiet!” I said, firing on full indignation cylinders. “Where have you been? Why do I suddenly find a mobster in my basement, and how the fuck did you get in that owl?”

“Oh,” said Bob. “That’s easy. And anyway it’s Mister’s fault.”

And then the lights in the skull, quite abruptly, turned orange, while the owl’s eyes turned blue and red. The red in the owl’s eye was marked with a Japanese numeral where a pupil would be.

“Is he fixed?” asked Thomas plaintively. “Can we go?”

“I wish I _could_ get him fixed,” I muttered.

“_Nani_?” said Tsuna helplessly. “Mukuro-san- belonging- broke?”

Thomas uttered a single, perfect phrase that (he later told me) explained ‘fixed’.

Tsuna turned slightly white. “Du-Duresuden-san- _omae-_“

The owl shook itself all over and a tall, long-haired man appeared, purple mist around the edges. “&lt;Poor innocent Tsunayoshi,&gt;” he breathed in the voice of Rokudo Mukuro, bending over the smaller man. “&lt;Don’t worry, he’s not talking about _me_…&gt;”

Tsuna looked slightly queasy and patted Mukuro consolingly but firmly on the shoulder. “&lt;Are you all right now? How is Chrome-san? What are you doing in Chicago?&gt;”

Mukuro tilted his head and regarded Tsuna mournfully. “Dear Tsunayoshi,” he said, and smiled. “&lt;You’ll have to find out those answers for yourself- if you want them, that is.&gt;”

And then he was gone, and the owl’s wings flared white against the Chicago skyline.

“That was melodramatic,” I said.

Tsuna sighed. “We finished, please? I want sleep.”

“Yes,” I said. “And- thanks. You didn’t have to help us.”

He smiled at me, and the brilliance of it tugged something similar from my own lips despite how badly I wanted sleep myself. “You worry your friend,” he said. “Me- me too.”

And we left.

.0.

In the lift, I turned on Thomas. “What the-“

Thomas held up a patronizing hand to halt me, and if I had been one iota more or less tired, I’d have bitten it. “I’ve been there often enough,” he said. “Can’t speak more than a few- _pertinent _phrases and of course I can’t understand more than one word in ten. One of my sisters makes our home there her permanent roost.”

“Japan? Seriously? But it’s-“

Thomas arched an eyebrow at me. “Do you know that in Japan, they do this thing with a ping-pong ball and-“

I held up my hand to stop him. “Please, shut up.”

He laughed, slapped my open palm with his own, and Bob began to whine about wanting to know the firsthand account of what it was they did in Japan with a ping-pong ball.

.0.

Thomas, somewhat predictably, cried off the second he saw the limousine lounging- there is no other word- idly in the street in front of his car with Hendricks standing outside.

“A little above your price range, Dresden?” came Marcone’s soft chocolate _I am laughing at you, and you are hilarious _drawl, with an undertone of menacing _I know what you did in there_ purr. It creeps me out that I know this guy’s tones enough to have given them names.

“Only for the best for my Harrikins,” said Thomas, straight-faced, leaning his head on my shoulder. He had to stretch to do it. Ha-ha!

Look, I take my victories where I can get them. Especially when my very straight half-brother decides it’s time to humiliate me in front of my arch-enemy. Or my sometime ally. Or my constant pain-in-the-ass. Whichever.

“I’m glad such _illustrious folk_ decide to patronize our establishment,” said Marcone urbanely. “I do have standards to keep up.”

I could see by Thomas’s face that he was about to throw back something supremely bitchy and gay, probably featuring the French accent he uses in his sekrit identity. I immediately took steps to curtail this, i.e. stepping on his foot. Hard.

I’m a heavy guy. Thomas may be super-strong, but even he notices over six feet of me, weapons and duster suddenly concentrated on his foot. Have to hand it to him, though, his face didn’t twitch.

“Why don’t you go back and let me handle this,” I said. “Honey,” I added. “You need to be all rested for work tomorrow.”

“So I do,” said Thomas, eyes narrowed at me. “Don’t stay up too long playing with bad men, _Harrikins_.”

“Just go already,” I told him, handing him the bag with Bob and my keys. “This mushy stuff is embarrassing.”

Thomas shrugged and sauntered off.

“I wonder if he knows I’ve met his charming young lady,” remarked Marcone.

“He’s White Court,” I said. “They’re flexible.” I thought about adding an eyebrow waggle to the end of that sentence, but it was too late for that shit. It would be too late for that shit at high noon. “What do you want?”

“An amiable discussion,” said Marcone silkily. “Do get in the car before we catch our deaths of cold.”

I _did_ need to have words with Marcone, preferably ones that did not take place at the foot of a mob-owned and occupied hotel.

So I got into the car.

-tbc- 


End file.
